Wherever I May Roam
by Plia
Summary: Sometimes the things that are the hardest to say can only be said to a perfect stranger.


**Set in between seasons 5 and 6 when Dean is living with Lisa and Ben and he thinks Sam is in the pit. Kinda dark but what else do you expect from Dean. It's short again and I'm sorry for that but I'm working on some longer ones.**

**I dont own anything. Not even the title.**

**'Men always talk about the most important things to perfect strangers.' - Gilber K. Chesterson.**

* * *

He's not fully sure how he ended up here. There's not very many other people around. Not a lot of people needing to get a bus at two in the morning in the rain. He's not even sure if that's what _he's_ doing. Waiting for a bus.

He left the house in a blur. He couldn't sleep. He hardly ever sleeps anymore. He didn't even think to grab a jacket and his flannel shirt's soaked through. There's water dripping from his hair, down his neck. He doesn't have anything with him, no luggage and even if he did get on a bus he has no idea where he'd go.

Lisa'll worry if she wakes up and he's not there again. It's something that happens a lot lately. He'll be lying in bed trying to fall asleep – and being so so afraid of what waits for him when he does – and the next thing he knows he's not even in the house anymore. A couple of times he's been in the Impala. Once or twice he's ended up wandering around a graveyard, unable to remember breaking in. Usually he winds up at a bus stop. Or the train station. Or even the goddamned airport.

Natural born runner, he supposes. It's in his blood. If you're facing up against something you can't fight, you turn around and haul ass.

He always goes back though. Eventually. He made a promise and it's not like he has anywhere to go anyway. He's considered Lawrence or even to Bobby's but that's not what he promised Sam he'd do. And he can't break that promise. Not now.

A sound next to him makes him look up, suddenly alert, already reaching for the knife in his boot that isn't there (and the absence of it burns a hole in his foot) because he's out of the game but the instincts never ever die away.

It's an old man.

He sits down, weary and kind of awkwardly. Slow, like he has all the time in the world. It strikes him as odd that the man's getting a bus this late.

He faces forward again and then he feels the man look at him. And he feels the man do a double-take and look harder. He must look more than a little pathetic. He can feel the man deliberating and he can't decide if he wants him to ask or if he wants him to just mind his own business.

"You all right son? You don't look real good?"

He sighs and it's a world of weariness and he feels just as old as the man sitting next to him despite the decades between them. "Not really."

The man nods thoughtfully. "Little late for a bus ride, isn't it?"

Dean looks at him. "Guess so. I could say the same thing to you."

"My daughter just went into labour. I'm on my way to the hospital. Ain't no way I'm missing the birth of my first grandchild." The pride is obvious.

"Congratulations." He says, and he means it but his voice sounds hollow.

"Walt Kelly." The man says by way of introduction.

He hesitates for a minute because that's one of those things that's ingrained in him. You never give real names and 'Malcolm Young' is on the tip of his tongue but he stops. That's not his life now. "Dean. Dean Winchester."

"You look like you could do with talking about it."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. The quip about chick flick moments barely materialises in his brain. It's not like anyone would know what he meant anymore. "You ever think about what it's going to be like when it's your time to go?"

"All the time. I'm not as young as I used to be." The man sounds nervous though and Dean realises he thinks he's asking about himself. Like he's talking about his own death. Well, he's not suicidal. Not really.

"I'm older than I thought I'd be."

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "Do you think it's better to go quick or to have time to say goodbye? Is it better to know you're going to die or to have no idea?"

The man shifts uncomfortably. "I guess it's better to have no idea. Otherwise you'd drive yourself mad. Someone you know died?"

He doesn't answer because the words get stuck in his throat and he can't talk around the lump.

"Did she go quick?" The man asks gently. Dean starts with the realisation that he thinks it's a girlfriend or something.

"Not she. He. My brother. I guess so, but he knew it was coming."

"I'm sorry son." And he sounds sincere. "It's hard to lose your family."

The almost-sob tears out of him before he can stop it. Because Sam wasn't just his brother. His family. Sam was his everything. He lived for that kid and now he doesn't know what he's living for. It's not hard. It's impossible.

He feels a hand on his shoulder but it's hesitant and unfamiliar. It's supposed to be solid and reassuring. It never will be again.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do without him. I need him." His voice is gruff, like after a night of whiskey drinking. "We never talked about it, you know? Never needed to. But I probably should have said it." His voice crumples.

A handkerchief is passed to him wordlessly. He nods his thanks. It's quiet a minute before the man speaks again.

"Do you think he didn't know?"

He laughs but it sounds strangled. "No, he knew. I knew too. Couldn't not know after…after everything. Still. I should have said it out loud. He'd have just laughed though. I'd have laughed."

"He sounds like a good brother."

That tears at something deep within him that he's barely keeping patched up as it is. "He was an idiot." And he says it with feeling.

The man looks surprised. And then nervous again. "He wouldn't want you do anything stupid though I'm sure."

He grins and there's no humour behind it. He must look barely in control. He is. "No. He wouldn't. But he was always the sensible one and he's not here now." The hole in his chest is a chasm of hurt.

"You must have something to keep going for."

Lisa. Ben. His stupid, goddamned, fucking promise. He sends the man a smile that's too sharp, too bright, too desperate. "It should have been me first."

"It doesn't always work like that. We can't control the order of these things. Death doesn't discriminate. It's awful but it happens." The man says imploringly.

"Death is an asshole."

The man looks confused but he doesn't ask and Dean is thankful. The bus pulls up and the old man looks at it.

"I have to go. If it were any other night son I'd sit with you but my daughter…" He trails off.

"It's okay. Go. Thanks though." He gets it. Family comes first.

He watches the man heave himself across the pavement and onto the bus. The doors slide shut and the bus pulls away. It keeps raining.

He sits a while longer but eventually he gets up and walks back to Lisa's place. It weighs on him and he loves her and Ben but this isn't where he's supposed to be. Only he doesn't know where he's supposed to be anymore and he promised.

That promise to Sam is what keeps him going. It's all he has left.


End file.
